


A Private Showing

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Dark Avengers (Comic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Homophobia, Kink Meme, M/M, Manipulation, Pole Dancing, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt on the <a href="http://xcomics-kink.dreamwidth.org/473.html?thread=4569#cmt4569">X-Men Comics Kink Meme</a>: "The Dark Avengers go to a strip bar and Daken gets up on one of the poles. It gets Bullseye more than a little hot under the collar."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Private Showing

**Author's Note:**

> The original [kink meme post](http://xcomics-kink.dreamwidth.org/473.html?thread=4569#cmt4569).
> 
> Share and enjoy!

The strip club, Osborne will claim afterward, was Ms. Hand's idea. And Ms. Hand will point out that that's _entirely_ untrue, because all _she_ suggested was that his new Avengers weren't quite gelling as a team, and that they could probably use something to bring them together. A team-building exercise.

“But you can hardly go off and do trust falls in the woods when you've already dragged someone out of the way of a falling building,” she'd said, looking bored. “Something social, maybe.”

And Osborne had thought about what _he'd_ rather do, but none of his Avengers golf, they don't go yachting, he can't exactly take them to a _country_ _club._ (And a small part of his mind suggests that he'd _dearly_ love to be hunting down Spider-man, the little nuisance, the little demon—but no, no, he doesn't do that anymore, he takes his medication in the morning and everything is fine.)

But what the _hell_ do these classless freaks he's assembled _do_ with their time?

Thus: the Mercedes Lounge. As a _team._

The first thing that happens, when they walk in, is that the bartender waves enthusiastically to _Mac_ of all people, and shouts, “Yo, Spider-man!”

Lester snorts. “You _told_ him you were Spider-man?”

“I _am_ Spider-man. The hell's the point of bein' an Avenger if I don't get free drinks? Hey, Lenny!” Mac waves back at the bartender. “Drinks for my friends!”

Then, of course, the bartender _looks_ at the rest of them, and their faces have all been on the news, so for a few minutes it gets pretty loud.

So _now._

Noh-Varr and Bob are sitting together, their heads moving from side to side in unison as they follow the movements of one of the dancers, trying to watch as she bends around the pole. After a moment, Noh-Varr looks over at Bob and says, “Is this intended to be entertaining? I have to say, I'm impressed with her flexibility, but this isn't very interesting.” 

“I remember coming to a place like this once,” Bob says, an abstracted look on his face. “Lindy kicked me out, we'd had a fight. So I came to a club a lot like this, and I drank a lot, and I got very angry, and then I was very sad. But then one of the dancers came and sat with me and called me a taxi and made sure the driver took me home.” He smiles faintly. “I gave her fifty dollars. The dancer, not the taxi driver. She was very kind.”

Noh-Varr looks at him for a long moment and then says, “You're not well, are you? This planet's approach to most things is pretty backwards, but I'm _sure_ you should be receiving some kind of treatment. In fact I'm concerned about Osborne's decision to include you on this team. I know he thinks very highly of you, but you should be in a hospital.”

Ares is happily occupied; his booming voice is audible under the roar of the music as he commands the attention of not one dancer, but three. Osborne looks vaguely irritated with him, but when he starts to move towards where Ares is ensconced, his eyes light on the bikini one dancer is wearing, and he goes oddly still.

“It's fairly common.” Victoria doesn't touch him as she comes up by his side. “There's always the one in the Spider-man bikini. Have you taken your medication yet this evening, Director Osborne?”

He blinks, and then says, very calmly, “No, Ms. Hand, I haven't. I'll go do that now.” And he leaves the room, one hand clenched by his side. 

Once he's gone, Victoria smiles faintly, and her attention drifts across the room to a dancer with skin the color of brown sugar and dark hair cut short over her ears, as beside her Karla comes up with a cocktail in hand and says, “This is all very curious, isn't it? It's almost cute, watching the men fall all over each other for this.”

“I don't know,” Victoria says, eyes still on the dancer's swaying hips. “I sort of like it here.”

Mac and Lester are sprawled in chairs at the edge of one stage, passing a continuous stream of dollar bills to a pair of dancers who look like they're pleased and flattered by the attention of two superheroes. They're completely absorbed; they don't even notice Osborne's retreat, or how Ares has attracted a fourth dancer and is calling for more beer.

And Daken...

Daken is sitting next to Mac and Lester, just _talking_ to another one of the dancers. She's dancing too, of course, but her attention is _entirely_ on him; she accepts his money almost _absently_ as they chat. As they talk, a blush spreads rather enticingly across her cheeks and nose—not a common sight in a club like this.

He beckons her close, and she leans down to listen to him and then laughs, suddenly, and says, _“No.”_

“I do. It's true.” He gives his two teammates a sidelong glance, smiling faintly, and then says, “I could show you how, if you like. I guarantee you, it'll double your tips.”

She giggles, seeming scandalized. “Well, all right, then.” And she holds out her hand. “ _Most_ guys don't want to get up here with me unless they're drunk.”

He takes her hand, smile widening. “I'm not most guys. And I'm definitely not drunk.”

He gets up on the stage.

At first the other clubgoers don't really notice—except, of course, for Mac and Lester, who laugh a little drunkenly and raises their beers. Their semi-encouraging jeers are almost inaudible under the boom of the music.

And then Daken shrugs off his shirt, and under the club's lights his skin is golden and his muscles ripple. And he takes hold of the pole, and slowly everyone else in the club starts to go silent. Even the DJ shuts up, trailing off in the middle of what was meant to be a jovial quip about people who have had a little too much tonight. His hands slow on the turntables, and the music starts to die down.

Daken nods to him, pleasantly, and says, “Play me something interesting.”

The DJ swallows hard, nods, and starts up the music again.

Now, Daken is graceful, but normally the greatest moments of said grace are to be avoided, because as a trained killer he is most elegant in the act of death. But this...

...this is entirely different.

He twines around the pole as if his muscles are liquid, lifts himself up and spins with an easy elegance that a number of the dancers will probably hate him for later, when the heat of the moment isn't on them. He lifts himself in the air and spins, he twists and bends, and his eyes shut momentarily, as if in bliss. As if there's nothing he'd rather be doing than dancing, right here.

Mac says, almost awestruck, “Where the hell did he learn to do that?”

“Now _that,_ ” Noh-Varr says quietly to Bob, “that's physical discipline I can respect.”

Lester doesn't say _anything._ He just stares, eyes wide, mouth tight, and looks _angry,_ except for the fact that his ears have gone red.

The dance continues for a minute, the dancer who helped Daken up onto the stage wide-eyed and pressing a hand to her mouth, and then...

Daken opens his eyes, sees Lester staring at him in what looks like fury, and _winks_ at him.

A frozen moment, and then Lester surges out of his chair, grabs Daken's wrist, and hauls him off the stage. The dancer who helped him up there squeaks, startled, but Daken just winks at _her_ and says, “Don't worry about it. I'm sure Hawkeye's just concerned with how much I've been drinking.” 

As Lester drags Daken out of the room, they can both hear the sound of the regular music starting back up, conversation returning. Mac stares after them for a moment and then shrugs, reaching for Lester's half-finished beer. “More for me, then. Awright, girls, who wants to go home with Spider-man tonight?” 

Lester pulls Daken, not out of the club entirely, but into the back, into one of the private rooms, and the door bangs shut behind them and locks. A few more steps, and then Daken slams into the wall, and says, sweetly, “Why, _Lester._ If I didn't know better I'd think you were upset with me.”

“What the hell do you think you're _doing,_ faggot?” Lester's breathing hard, eyes wide, hands braced on the wall on either side of Daken's head. “Prancing around like a—”

“I think you already said faggot. That's the word you were going to use, isn't it?” When Lester doesn't respond, just fumes, he continues. “I was just having a little fun.”

“Going to attract _attention._ ”

“Well, of _course._ Isn't that the point of dancing like that? Attention?”

Lester stares at him, breathless now. “You such a fucking princess that you gotta dance like a whore to make us pay attention to you?”

“I promised Rosée I'd show her some tricks.” A pause, and then Daken's gaze travels slowly down Lester's chest and stomach to his pants. “It seems like _you_ were enjoying it.”

“I'm not fuckin' _queer!_ I ain't— _hnng._ ”

The sentence cuts off abruptly when Daken's hand brushes the front of Lester's pants, fingers grazing the bulge there just lightly, as if it's by accident. “ _Lester._ You don't need to be _shy._ ” Looks up through his eyelashes at the other man, looking as if he's secretly, terribly pleased by something. “If you think I'm attractive, you can just say so.”

Lester stares at him for a moment, crimson, and can barely manage, “I, I don't, I ain't...”

“Go on.” His fingers trail up the front of Lester's shirt and curl around his collar, _almost_ affectionate, _almost_ violent. “Tell me what you _really_ think.”

Harsh breathing, and then, hoarse and quiet, “God- _fucking-_ dammit, you _freak._ ”

Daken frowns. “That's not very polite of you. I think, if you're going to be _rude,_ I should just go back out front with the others.” He turns to go.

 _“Wait.”_ A hand lands on his shoulder, and Lester shudders as if he's the one _being_ touched, not the one doing the touching. “I, I just, ok, I fucking admit it, I don't know what you've fucking done to me but I wanna _fuck_ you, I want it so bad I can't even _think._ ” 

Daken turns back to him. “ _Do_ you, now.” And he grabs Lester's collar again, pulls him down so that his ear is next to Daken's mouth, and whispers, “Do you want it so badly? Do you dream about it at night?”

“I, I _do_ , I fuckin', I don't know what's _wrong_ with me...”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, _fuck_ you—”

“It's all right. You can tell me.”

“I, I— _fuck,_ I _dreamed_ about you sucking my cock, I want your fucking _mouth,_ I _need_ it.”

“Hm.” Daken's mouth curves in a smile. “That could be nice.”

Lester's eyes are practically black, now, his breathing's coming shallow as he says, “Yeah?”

“I _like_ you.”

“You...you _do?_ ”

“Well, of _course._ You're so _fun._ ...but you haven't been very polite to _me_ recently.” Daken shifts away from him, frowning again, brow furrowed. “Now, why is that?”

“Look, I'm sorry, I didn't fuckin' mean it, I won't do it again—” 

And Daken's voice is a low growl as he says, “ _Beg_ me for it.”

For a moment it looks like Lester's going to argue, going to protest, he looks angry again, but as soon as Daken actually starts to pull away from him he breaks and says, “Please. Please, please, please, _Daken,_ I'm _sorry,_ _please_ don't go, _please,_ I'll fuckin' do anything you _want_ only _please_ suck my cock. Look, I'll get on my knees, I'll fuckin' _cry,_ hell, _I'll_ suck _your_ cock only _please_ don't fuckin' _leave_ me like this.”

Before he can keep going, before he can say anything more at all, Daken makes a little pleased noise and grabs his belt-loops, spinning them around so now _Lester's_ the one with his back to the wall. He drops to his knees while above him Lester keeps going, _“Please, please, please,”_ gets his pants open and very slowly runs his tongue up the underside of Lester's cock.

Lester makes a choked noise, the back of his head slamming into the wall, and Daken smirks and takes another slow lick, mouthing at the head and watching with interest as Lester looks down at him and makes another idiotic noise.

He pauses, leans back, and says, “Lester, I can't _hear_ you.”

“Please,” Lester says, breathless and desperate. _“Please,_ Daken.”

And Daken grabs his hips and leans forward and swallows him down.

Lester's hands scrabble for purchase on the wall, on Daken's hair, on anything within reach, and as Daken is sucking him he keeps up an increasingly loud litany of, “Please, please, _please,_ Daken, _please._ ” Daken grabs his wrists and pins them to the wall, and he shakes and moans and begs, “Please, _please._ ”

By the time he comes he's barely even saying _words,_ and the only coherent sound at the end is his hoarse shout of, _“Daken!”_ His back arches. His head hits the wall.

And then he's done, he's boneless, he could pass out for all he cares, but Daken zips him up quite politely, stands up at a leisurely pace, and says, “Now I think it's _my_ turn.”

He doesn't even argue, just drops to his knees and sucks Daken's cock into his mouth, while above him Daken croons, “I'm _impressed,_ Lester, you're so _good_ at this. Where did you _learn?_ ” When Lester makes a noise of protest he laughs, his grip on the back of Lester's head only _almost_ cruel, and says, “Ssh, I didn't mean _that_ , ssh, go on.”

When Daken comes down his throat Lester almost chokes on it, and that makes Daken _laugh._

And then he's allowed to get back on his feet, and Daken's brushing himself off and says, quite conversationally, “You know, Lester, if _that_ was all you wanted, you should have just _said_ something.”

Lester wipes his mouth off and tries to argue with him, feeling confused and angry and still a little horny, even, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “Yeah. Yeah, that was...”

“Wasn't it?” Daken reaches over and fixes his collar. “Aren't you a mess. Come on, we should get back out front, the others are probably wondering where we were.”

He trails back out to the front room of the strip club behind Daken, _still_ definitely feeling confused, and Mac looks up at him and says, “I drank your beer. Fuck happened to _you?_ ”

Lester sits down and gestures for another beer and doesn't say anything.

Daken smirks and says, “We were working out a minor disagreement.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed the story, please let me know!


End file.
